


Better Than Sex

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Desire, F/M, Intimacy, SGA Legacy book series, Safe Spaces, Sex, Snuggling, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's never been good at talking about intimacy; or, for that matter, <i>at</i> intimacy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Sex

**Author's Note:**

> A missing scene from the SGA Legacy book _Allegiance_ , but you don't have to have read the book. No major spoilers, I think.

_“I am happy for you to share my tent.”_

 _“Not exactly a tent.”_

 _“It does not literally have to be a tent.”_

 _“I know.”_

~ Teyla and John in ‘Allegiance’  
by Amy Griswold and Melissa Scott ~

 

Sex on the floor of the gym is easy - it’s heat, hunger, frustration; strong hands and wet skin. Mouths and bodies and flesh and strain and release.

Intimacy in Teyla’s lair is difficult.

They slip into a kiss, soft and light. Reassurance and desire, like coming to love this woman who keeps John’s secrets and guards his back.

She watches over him through cold, starry nights, and stands warm and very real in his arms.

And Teyla knows that his heart’s pounding under his ribs -and not just because she can feel it under her hands. She knows that there’s a part of him terrified of not being good enough, whole enough to be loved. And John carries the mark of Cain on him - the curse of slaughtered innocence.

The wheel turns and John hasn’t yet paid his price.

John doesn’t deserve this.

But Teyla does.

So he leans into the kiss, angling his head to draw deeply of her mouth. And one hand slides around his back and the other frames his jaw; holding him close and drawing him out.

He can’t resist this - this hope of warmth. The invitation to share her tent, to share her life. To be on the inside instead of the outside...

 _God, don’t let me fuck this up._

She unclips the P-90 between kisses, strong sure hands on his weapon. And he knows that she’s got the safety on, that she’ll put it somewhere in easy reach - that she’s aware of his need to be able to lay hands on it - just in case.

P-90, harness, jacket, shirt... He helps her undress him, not worrying about her clothes just yet - that’ll come later - wanting to be naked before her.

Lust is an easy ache in his balls; desire is something else - a fire licking at his skin, a hunger of his mind, a need he can’t allay by jacking himself off.

Her fingers unpick his laces, and he toes off his boots with practised ease. Her fingers close around his ankle to strip off his socks, and her eyes challenge his before dropping to the interrupted fall of his trousers. She runs her hands up his legs, and his hands cover hers as she unbuttons, unzips, undoes him.

His mouth falls on hers as her fingers ease the waistband of his boxers away from skin that’s already damp, and he drowns in the kiss as she slides the satiny material off his hips.

When she steps back, he wants to follow her.

But he won’t deny her a good look at what she’s getting.

It’s not much of a deal. One man, scarred inside and out, no longer young although in reasonable shape.

John thinks about what she’s seeing and wants to cover himself over.

“Teyla--”

She silences him with one finger. “Do not say it, John.”

He takes a deep breath and doesn’t apologise for what he is. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

“Perhaps,” she smiles. “And perhaps I am just going to enjoy the view.”

It’s not much of a view, John thinks but doesn’t say. But he puts his hands on his hips for a moment, forcing his embarrassment away. Then he reaches out to take her hand and leads her towards the bed.

Firm mattress under his thighs; soft blankets against his skin. Teyla straddling his lap, her hands in his hair, her mouth moving across his skin.

And John slides his hand up under the back of her t-shirt, over soft skin, and he wants her to be naked with him, too.

 _I am happy to share my tent with you._

Except it’s not a tent, it’s practically a condo. And - being Teyla, and being practical - it’s got just about anything one might ever need in case of an invasion...

But John’s not going to think about invasions right now. Or the Wraith. Or Rodney. Or the injured. Or the ZPM.

There’s only Teyla, and she needs to get naked now.

At his urging, she tugs off her shirt, and he kisses the curve of her shoulder. How many years did the lines of her body tempt him? And how many years did he spend resisting that temptation? Why did he resist in the first place?

She unhooks her bra and her breasts swing free. Not porn star breasts, but perfect all the same. John fills his hands with the curve of them, running his fingers over the faint stretch marks at the sides - remnants of when she was breastfeeding Torren.

A mother and a fighter and his friend - and now his lover.

“Trousers,” she murmurs when he begins to kiss his way down her body.

He undoes the fastenings of her trousers and eases both trousers and panties over her hips until the splay of her legs interrupts the motion. Then she climbs off him and steps out of her clothing, before bending to take his face in her hands and kissing him soft and deep again.

They ease back onto the bed, legs and arms and bodies and mouths. Teyla rolls him onto his back and takes her time with hands and lips and tongue. When John can’t take it any longer, he pushes her down and nips, sucks, and licks until his head aches from the grip she’s got in his hair.

It’s not fast and hard like in the gym, but slow and sensuous and careful and intimate. John revels in every moment. It’s been a long time since he had someone he could let inside his barriers like this.

Then Teyla crooks her legs around his hips and draws him in, her arms around his neck, her eyes on his. “Now, John.”

And, obedient to her wish, John joins them together - a welcome, a homecoming, a celebration, an affirmation - and they move in slow rhythms, the bed, the room, the city, the planet, the galaxy vanishing around them until she comes and he comes in beautiful blind relief.

Afterwards, they clean up and settle down.

Mundane as it seems, there are t-shirts and boxers and panties. A toothbrush and a smile in the mirror when she passes him, and the slim line of her body as he slips in between the blankets and spoons up against her.

He waits a moment, almost expecting their radios to blare, or for her to turn over and say that he misunderstood her when she invited him here.

Nothing. Just the silence and the quiet and the contented sigh of her breath as he settles against her.

“It’s a good lair,” John murmurs as they tremble on the brink of sleep.

He hears rather than sees Teyla’s smile in the darkness. “Of course.”

 ****


End file.
